


Petals and Ink

by drunkraiinbow



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Asexuality, Boys Kissing, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Flowers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tattoo Artist!Clark Kent, Tattooed!Bruce Wayne, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkraiinbow/pseuds/drunkraiinbow
Summary: With a new kid joining the family, Bruce tries a new tattoo artist to continue the tradition of adding them to his sleeve, but he won't trust just any artist.Clark manages to win him over with his incredible talent and his farm-boy friendly demeanor, and he may even have begun to win Bruce's heart.However, Clark might have a few things to learn first.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 215





	1. Withering Longing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorpseKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseKnight/gifts).



> Written for CorpseKnight for 2019's Superbat Exchange. 
> 
> As always beta-read by GavotteAndGigue.

With a book tucked under his arm, Bruce pushed the door to the tattoo parlor open and stepped into the wide front room. A bell jingled, announcing a new client had arrived, but the spot behind the counter was empty. 

Bruce raised his brows at the vacant space. The sign had stated the place was open for business and the mug of coffee on the counter was clearly freshly brewed. He still could smell the rich flavour of a nice blend. Maybe he had caught the owner during their lunch break, though Bruce couldn't say he felt sorry about it. He had lost count of how many times a customer had pulled him out of his breaks. 

He cleared his throat, ready to announce himself, when a deep melodic voice shouted through the studio from the back area. 

"I'll be with you in a second, mate!" 

"Take your time," Bruce replied quietly and rolled his eyes. Not that he had his own shop waiting for his return. But now that he knew where the man was, he could definitely hear soft murmurs. 

Leaving his book on the counter, Bruce let his gaze wander over the place once again. The place was open and friendly, the walls were painted a soft white. A comfortable looking couch and a few chairs formed a waiting area around a clean coffee table. The small bookshelves were filled with self-made photo albums as Bruce found out while opening a few. They contained beautiful examples of their works, both tattoos and piercings. 

During his research into the artists of the parlor, he had already seen most of the drawings and photographs framed on the wall. Some showed tattooed pieces on both male and female bodies and Bruce had no doubt that they were actual clients of the parlor, not professionally hired models. 

Between the big frames on the wall, Bruce noticed several awards of well-known tattoo conventions with growing satisfaction. Chicago, Star City, Central City, Los Angeles, and of course, Metropolis. He was curious why they had decided to open a parlor in an unknown town rather than a big city. Well, almost curious. 

After all, Bruce had sold his family business in Gotham to open a flower shop far away from the brutal city that had killed his parents. He wasn't one to judge. 

Absently, Bruce noted the plastic flowers in a cliché black. He snorted at the fake plants that lined the side of five steps leading down to the back rooms behind a pair of swinging doors. They swung open, pushed aside by a  _ stupidly _ gorgeous man. 

"Really sorry you had to wait," Stupidly Gorgeous said while climbing up the stairs, "Conner called in sick this morning so the counter is unstaffed and Lucas needed me with a client and– I'm rambling, ain't I? I'm sorry, I'll stop now and let you tell me how I can help you." 

He stopped in front of Bruce and held out his hand for a firm shake while his lips curled up in a genuine smile. "I'm Clark Kent, by the way. I run this place."

Bruce was stumped. Which was concerning, really. He was never stumped. 

"Bruce," he managed to say, clearing his throat. "I was hoping for a consultation and an appointment." 

"A tattoo?" Clark clarified and his smile deepened when Bruce nodded. "Your first one?" 

Bruce quirked his eyebrows. "Actually no. It will be an addition to an existing sleeve, if that’s possible." He groaned internally. Maybe he was a bit too harsh, but he didn't appreciate being judged by first impressions. Clark didn't seem to mind his cold response. 

"Awesome," he just said and pointed towards the waiting area. "Let's sit down and see what I can do for you. I'll just grab a few things and we can look at your ideas." 

With a pat on Bruce's shoulder, Clark moved around the counter and searched for his utensils. Bruce snorted quietly, but picked up his book from the counter before he took a seat on the leather couch. 

His eyes wandered to Clark, taking in his toned body – broad shoulders, big biceps, slightly taller than Bruce, who wasn't short himself – before he let his gaze trail over the prominent cheekbones, the sharp jawline, and Clark's black curly hair. Even his lips were pretty; plump and slightly red when the artist bit on his bottom lip while humming an unknown melody. 

Bruce turned his attention to his book the second Clark found what he was looking for, and opened it to the page he had marked. He felt the cushion move and didn't have to look up to know that Clark was sitting close right next to him now. 

"That's a beautiful flower," Clark said leaning over Bruce's shoulder to look at the picture. "Do you want that one tattooed? What's it called?"

"Marigold," Bruce explained and smiled fondly at the picture of the bushy, bright orange flower. "The sun of every garden. I thought about two blossoms, three at most. I have a spot on my forearm that I kept empty for this occasion." 

Not that he had wanted to adopt another child, back then. But he had known himself better than to close all the remaining space on his left arm with meaningless flowers. 

Clark nodded. "I can do flowers, no problem. May I see what I'm working with? Space- and style-wise?" 

Bruce shrugged, but leaned back before he started pulling the black turtleneck sweater halfway off. His arm was quickly freed from the sleeve and he simply pushed the fabric up to let it rest over his shoulder, not ashamed of his body, but also not fond of stripping bare in an open waiting room. 

He stretched his arm to the side and turned it around slowly while Clark watched his actions. The artist had his lips slightly open, tongue sticking out between his teeth. Bruce didn't doubt that he actually bit on it while he observed Bruce's tattooed arms thoughtfully. 

"Yeah, I can definitely do that," he murmured and already reached out but stopped in his motion just before he could grab Bruce's arm. "Do you mind...?" 

"Go ahead," Bruce shrugged once again and held his arm for Clark to take and twist as he wished. "I thought we could add them down here," he added and let his fingers run over the naked skin on his forearm, right where the flowers stopped in a half sleeve. 

"I can see it, yeah," Clark smiled and trailed down a line of Bleeding Heart flowers which filled the spaces between the prominent flowers on his skin. "I'll set them around your arm and take these cuties to fill the spaces. Could do another flower on the back or your forearm. There's still a spot that I can leave blank, but I think filling it would complete the full sleeve look." 

Clark's fingers brushed over Bruce's skin and followed a few lines, going over the different flowers that reached up to Bruce's shoulder. Bruce felt the urge to shiver under Clark's careful touches, he barely held it back. 

"No scarring at all. You took good care of it… It's a fantastic work," Clark murmured, more to himself than to Bruce. He had his brows furrowed and his lips pressed together in concentration while his gaze rested on Bruce's skin. Gone was the rambling boy that had greeted him. Now, Clark was in his element, pure confidence and skills. And it looked damn good on him. 

Bruce cleared his throat, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back to the consultation. 

"Leave it blank. Could use it when I expect it the least," he said, more cryptic than he had intended to.The truth was, he didn't have anyone important enough to fill the space with. He wouldn't rush this. His sleeve would only be incomplete if someone went missing. 

"What do they stand for? If you don't mind the question," Clark said and looked up, azure blue eyes meeting Bruce's. 

"I don't," Bruce replied, trying to not stare into the other’s eyes and dropped his gaze onto his tattoos instead. He tapped against the first flowers on his upper arm: a bunch of Daffodils in bright yellow, three in total. "Daffodils stand for joy and happiness. They’re my first son's birth month flowers. A single Daffodil brings misfortune, so you always want to get a bunch of them." 

He twisted his arm slightly and motioned towards the purple-white flower on the inside of his upper arm, framed by the Bleeding Heart flowers. "Daisies for April and for the man that raised me. They stand for innocence and purity. And this," Bruce tapped against the Larkspur in the crook of his elbow, "is my third son's flower, for July." 

Clark didn't interrupt him, so Bruce continued with the graceful blossom on the outside of his forearm, right under his elbow. "Gladiolus for August and my second son, Jason. It represents strength of character and honor, what he definitely has. And the Marigold is my youngest son's flower," he closed with a glance at the open book. 

Bruce remembered Damian had been in the family for a few months now and only slowly opened up. But one day during breakfast, he had asked about Bruce's tattoos, and Bruce had taken the time to explain their meaning. At first, Damian had seemed unimpressed, until Bruce had found him in the small library later that week, vividly searching for his birth month flowers to have it added to the sleeve. 

"And the Bleeding Hearts?" Clark asked and smiled so sweetly at Bruce that Bruce couldn't help but reply. 

"Just a filler. But they usually indicate deep feelings. One of my favourite flowers." 

"Wow," Clark said and blinked, tilting his head. The sweet boy was back and grinned at Bruce now. "You know quite a lot about flowers. That's awesome. I have to remember all kinds of meanings and symbols when clients come in and want a certain tattoo without knowing what each bit means. Real harm can be done by being ignorant. But for flowers I usually trust my googling skills." 

Bruce laughed. "I do hope I know enough about flowers to run a flower shop. I don’t wish to bring misfortune with my creations," he said and tried to keep his words genuine. 

"A flower shop?" Clark's eyes lit up like candles. "The one across the street? I kill every plant I touch, so I never came by, but the colors look amazing."

"Thanks." 

They finished up pretty quickly after that. 

Clark took a few pictures and measurements of Bruce's forearm for the designs he would make and spent more time on his laptop, searching for the perfect Marigold blossoms and examples of the Bleeding Hearts to fill in the spaces. 

After that they moved back to the counter. Clark managed to schedule his appointment in two weeks already, smiling sheepishly when Bruce raised an eyebrow. The parlor had opened not long ago and people needed to start trusting their work first before the word would spread and more clients would rush in. 

When they had said their final goodbyes and Bruce had reached his side of the street, he turned around to look back at the parlor. There, standing next to the door, was Clark waving at him with a smile. 

* * *

It was already dark outside when Bruce managed to close up the shop. Andrew, who was both an employee and a friend since the grand opening, stayed back as usual. He was helping Bruce with the flower displays outside. They had to be stored within the shop overnight and lined up neatly around the decorated tables, snuggling with the indoor flowers. 

Bruce was about to fill yet another watering can for himself when Andrew leaned against the sink next to him. He blew at a strand of his silver hair that had gotten loose from the messy bun out of his view. 

"Did you get the appointment?" Andrew asked and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You were quiet when you came back." 

Bruce raised a brow and set the full can next to the man. "I did," he replied, grabbing yet another can for Andrew. The man might as well help water the plants. "And he seems competent. It's clean, it's friendly. And professional." 

"Damian will be  _ delighted _ ." Andrew grinned. He took the watering can Bruce had already prepared, but stayed to wait for the second one to fill up. "He told me about the Marigold today and how he found it. Kid's going to take over the shop when you're old, just wait for it."

"You said the same about Jason when he was younger," Bruce reminded him. "And now he studies English Literature." 

He got a wink from Andrew in return. "Though I was right about him being gay. And you've got me until Damian is old enough to run a business." 

"I'll also need you here to keep an eye on the shop while I let my skin be penetrated by a tiny needle over and over again," Bruce added helpfully and tried to grin, but it ended up being a grimace. 

Andrew just snorted and switched the water off, taking the can out of the sink. "I'll have your back, buddy, don't worry." 

* * *

The next time Bruce entered the parlor, he was greeted by a grown man arguing with a pouting teenage boy about a stolen sandwich. Bruce followed the conversation only half-heartedly and didn't mind to interrupt the second he got to the counter. 

The boy who had more piercings in his face than Bruce would've liked on his own kids pushed the grown man away with a soft groan. He told him to get Clark to the front before he held out his hand for Bruce to shake. 

"You must be Bruce? Nice to meet you, I'm Conner!" 

Bruce nodded and took the offered handshake while he raised his brows. Since he didn’t need to introduce himself, he said the other thing that first came to his mind. "Are you even old enough to work here?" Bruce flinched internally. 

Luckily, Conner just grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment. I'm actually twenty-one, but I've been told I have a young face."

Older than Jason, Bruce couldn't stop himself from noticing, and smiled at the young man to soften his previous words. Despite the rings in his lips, nose, and ears and the wild black mohawk, he had a friendly expression lying underneath. Bruce didn't doubt that Conner was actually a good man. 

Still, Bruce felt relieved when his interaction with Conner was cut short by Clark coming up the stairs. Bruce got another firm handshake from Clark and followed him down the few steps after a warm smile. 

Clark led him to the back rooms and held the swinging doors open for Bruce to pass through. Clark followed him into the work space and pointed at one of the four leather chairs that were spread throughout the room. 

"That's my station," he told Bruce proudly, but headed towards the long desk at the back wall. "Thought we could look over the design and see what will fit best, and then we can get started." Clark was clearly excited. 

"Sure," Bruce agreed and found himself sitting next to Clark in the next moment, watching him as he laid out several sheets of paper in front of them. 

Beautiful flowers filled the blank sheets. Clark had drawn the Marigold as well as the Bleeding Hearts, trying to match the previous style but adding his own techniques. The results after a few rough sketches were stunning. Two wonderfully blooming Marigolds with their petals framed by heart-shaped flowers. 

"We can connect the branches of the Bleeding Hearts with the ones of your sleeve and have it look as if it's been meant to be in there from the beginning," Clark explained and grabbed Bruce's wrist softly to expose his forearm and hold the design over the blank spot on Bruce's skin. "Like so." 

Bruce nodded slowly while still taking in the sight. Even in his imagination the expected result already looked stunning. "I think it works." 

"Yeah?" Clark raised his brows with a soft grin on his lips. 

"Yeah," Bruce nodded and returned the smile. "It's perfect."

He stayed on his chair next to Clark while the other started to copy the drawing onto a stencil, looking back and forth at Bruce's forearm to ensure it fit the existing tattoo. Clark's lips were slightly parted and his tongue was sticking out again. Bruce had to suppress a snickering sound. He was kind of cute. 

It didn't take long for Clark to finish the stencil and lay the pen down. He motioned Bruce to take off his black pullover (merch from Jason's rock band that had yet to have its breakthrough) and shaved the blank spot quickly before he started to apply the stencil. It was just for the purpose of getting an idea of what the full sleeve would look like in the end, Clark promised him. 

"I'm going to draw the flow of the Bleeding Hearts freehand," Clark explained while he peeled off the thin stencil paper and took a look at the placement. "Let me know what you think of this. You can also use the mirror to see the full sleeve." 

Following Clark's suggestion, Bruce made his way to the big mirror and turned to the side so he could catch a full view of his tattoo-covered arm. The two Marigolds would go right under the Larkspur, a tiny bit covered by the purple petals to fit it into the sleeve perfectly. 

Amidst a hum, Bruce could hear someone whistling behind him and turned around. To his surprise, it wasn't Clark but the man who had been arguing with Conner earlier.

"Those are some very nice tats you got there," he said while his gaze wandered over Bruce's naked upper body, before his lips curled up in a smile and his eyes met Bruce's. "I'm Midnighter. Might have heard of me." 

"Unlikely," Bruce replied dryly. 

Clark laughed from behind the man and came closer to give him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't listen to Lucas. He likes to act tough but he's a nice guy. And also on his break which means he's not required down here." 

"Ouch," Lucas said and ran his fingers through his undercut, smirking slightly. "I know when I'm not welcome. Call me if you need me, guys." 

Clark actually rolled his eyes when Lucas walked away with a suggestive wink in both of their directions (Bruce was sure Lucas also mouthed  _ threesome _ at him), and checked on Bruce's arm, totally ignoring the grin that was spread across Bruce's lips now. 

"Shall we do the Bleeding Hearts?" Clark asked and bit on his tongue again, waiting for Bruce's quiet agreement. "I'm going to kill him later, don't worry." 

The next minutes were quiet. Clark concentrated on adding the freehand details and Bruce waited for him to finish while he examined the studio with growing satisfaction. It was very clean and organized. The chairs had fresh plastic covers, the stations looked tidy and the material he could see was sealed. Even the color tubes were sorted and neatly lined up on a long shelf. 

As soon as Clark was finished, he made Bruce stand in front of the mirror again and turn his arm several times, before he was satisfied with the pre-drawn lines on Bruce's forearm. Finally, Bruce was allowed to put his pullover back on with Clark’s help, who made sure the fabric wouldn't touch the stencil. 

Then, it was time to sit back on the chair and let Clark do his work. Bruce felt the tiniest amount of nervousness rising in his stomach when he put his arm in the separated armrest and watched Clark adjusting the stand to the perfect height. It was perfectly routine, something everyone probably experienced right before it began, but Bruce still felt embarrassed. 

Clark seemed to sense it. He gave Bruce a soft smile, hands already gloved and tattoo gun ready for the first pricks, and bit his lip. 

"Mind if we talk while I do my thing?" Clark asked, "I like that. Like, it's a nice way to get to know someone who's going to wear my art for the rest of their life." 

"I'd like that," Bruce replied honestly. 

"All good then?" Clark asked and moved the needle closer to Bruce's skin. "Ready to start? We can always take a break when it gets too much, just tell me." 

"Yeah," Bruce agreed and prepared for the needle punctures when the familiar buzzing started, but relaxed soon again. 

Clark was very talented. Not only with his drawing skills, but also with the way he tattooed. Bruce had met many artists over the last couple of decades and had gotten quite a selection of different tattoos all over his body. Some had healed perfectly, like his sleeve, while others had left scars and regrets. 

Clark's needle stitches, though, were barely noticeable. Sure, Bruce could feel them, but it was tolerable. Good pain that he'd embrace in order to get the flowers for his youngest son. 

"I guess I should start talking about myself," Clark began while he focused on the black paint for now. "I'm from Kansas, which is not hard to tell I think. I grew up on a farm." 

"You're a country boy?" Bruce smirked. It was good to have kids, sometimes. "With a cowboy hat and boots? Do you know how to do horse riding?"

"I do." Clark laughed. "But I haven't done it in a while. I miss working with animals. We didn't have a cattle farm though, don't want to give you false impressions. My parents sell corn." 

Bruce nodded and tilted his head over the soft buzzing of the machine. It was almost like an intense massage with the small exception that a needle punctured his skin over eight hundred times per minute. He could overlook that. 

"How did you get into tattooing then?"

"Studied journalism but got interested in the arts through my roommates and stayed with it ever since," Clark told him. "I moved to Metropolis to become a famous tattoo artist, and then I found this lovely place and just had to open a parlor myself. My rules and all, you know?" 

"Wouldn't a bigger city have been better?" Bruce asked, because he was actually wondering about that. 

"Probably," Clark shrugged while reaching for more ink for his needle. "But I just wanted to get away from my ex-wife when the divorce was through." 

Bruce wasn't sure what to reply to that. He had never gone through a marriage or divorce, luckily, but through bad breakups that had cost him more nerves than he had been willing to sacrifice. With that experience, he was probably only barely able to imagine what it must have been like for Clark.

"I'm sorry," Bruce ended up saying and hated himself for it. He was sorry, but saying it out loud was one of the worst truisms.

Clark just smiled at him. "No need to be. I met her when I was sixteen and we married in college. After the divorce, I wanted to leave my old life behind and just get a restart, you know?" 

Bruce nodded slowly, brows furrowed and Clark paused for a moment before he laughed almost sheepishly. "I'm not used to my new life as a single man at the age of thirty-seven. Conner always tells me to go out with him, but then I end up drawing and suddenly, I need to pick up my little brother at a club because he's too drunk to find his way home."

"You don't look like thirty-seven," Bruce murmured, biting his bottom lip. He would have guessed Clark to be a late twenties, or early thirties. Thirty-two at most. Definitely not merely eleven years younger than Bruce himself. 

"Oh, thank you!" Clark laughed. "But enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Bruce." 

Bruce was bad at randomly telling facts about his life, so he pouted internally as he furrowed his brows. "Anything you would like to hear about?" 

Clark made a humming sound as he thought about Bruce's question. The buzzing of the machine stopped when he switched to another colour and started up again as soon as Clark began to ink Bruce's skin again. He was highly concentrated and working quickly, comparing the slowly growing flower on Bruce's forearm with the print he had stuck to the chair regularly. 

"What brought you here?" Clark eventually said and looked up from the petal he was currently filling out. "I can hear your accent. It's strange, too posh for a town like this. You're not from here." 

Bruce smirked for a moment. "I'm from Gotham," he said while he flexed his fingers to distract himself from the growing burning sensation on his arm. "Came here because it was the opposite of Gotham. Small, friendly, in need of a flower shop."

And not the city that had killed his parents. 

"So you're  _ the _ Bruce Wayne," Clark concluded with a wink. 

Bruce snickered. "I am. Sold my company, came out as gay, opened a flower shop, adopted a bunch of kids." 

"And dated a few twinks," Clark added helpfully and laughed when he saw Bruce's grimace. "That bad?" 

"Kind of," Bruce admitted. "My oldest son, Richard, framed the title pages. He says I'm irresponsible because I dated models his age while I tried to be a serious father. He's twenty-seven and with the police now, trying to get his Detective badge soon." 

Clark grinned at that and focused on the tattoo again, but the work didn't stop him from talking with Bruce. In fact, Bruce didn't even feel the time passing by, the more he talked to Clark. 

"And your other sons?" Clark asked softly and still interested. "You have four, right?" 

Bruce nodded but tried to keep his arms still. "You could say I'm addicted to adoption. I see a kid in need and just want to take them in. Found Jason in Gotham when he was thirteen, in Crime Alley. Now he's studying English literature. And Tim–," Bruce laughed, "Tim is gifted. School is too easy for him now. But he's seventeen, he needs to graduate from High School first, and I didn't want him to skip grades. He's very smart but at the same a complete mess. He needs those extra years to figure out how life works." 

He paused to look at Clark, surprised that the buzzing had stopped. He raised a brow but got a soft smile back while Clark wiped his arm. 

"And the youngest? Damian, right?" Clark asked and put his tattoo gun down, sitting back in his chair. The tattoo wasn't finished yet, but Bruce didn't question Clark's work. 

"He's twelve," Bruce replied and moved his heavy arm. "Distanced and different from the others, but he has a good heart. And he likes flowers." Damian was very much like Bruce himself. 

"Sounds like you've got your hands full with your kids," Clark said with a grin and clapped in his hands, looking at the clock. "Thought we can do a short break, get some water and food and get back to it in fifteen minutes?" 

Bruce agreed with a nod. He could use the fluids and some food, maybe walk a few steps. He couldn't believe that they had talked for almost three hours now. 

Clark made sure to wrap the tattoo up before he gave Bruce permission to stand up. They parted ways, Bruce getting upstairs to ask Conner for a bottle of water and a sandwich as Clark had suggested, while Clark went back to the desk and took out his own lunch from a bag underneath.

Conner was already waiting for Bruce and pointed at the coffee table in the empty waiting area. Empty except for Lucas, who was currently eating a sandwich as well. He shrugged when he felt Bruce's eyes on himself and explained that he was waiting for a client.

Bruce didn't question it, and joined him. The coffee was good, the sandwich tasty, and Conner brought the water just when Bruce had finished eating. It was almost cute and definitely a unique service. Bruce appreciated it. Maybe that was how a family run tattoo parlor worked. 

"What does the butterfly stand for?" Conner asked when Bruce leaned back and stretched his arms, which pushed his sleeve back to revealed the colorful tattoo on his other wrist. 

Bruce tilted his head. "I don't know the species, but the colors represent the asexual flag," he explained and smiled when Conner stared at it in awe. It was one of his favourite tattoos that represented himself, and definitely a piece of art. The artist had been working on it for almost an entire day. 

"You're asexual?" Conner said surprised and blinked at Bruce. 

Bruce nodded firmly. "I am," he replied while he could hear the silent question ringing in his ears.  _ Is that an issue for you? _

A grin started to spread on Conner's lips. "That's awesome!" 

Bruce smiled in return.

* * *

Dinner was special that night. When Bruce had finished cooking, he not only found Tim and Damian at the table, but also Jason, who had a room on campus, and Dick, who was living in his own apartment in the neighboring big city. 

However, Bruce did not mind seeing his boys again and started to serve for two people more. He had made enough food, but he would have to skip the leftovers he always included for a quick lunch the next day when the shop was too busy to sit down eat. 

Later, after everyone was satisfied, Damian demanded to see the tattoo. Bruce nodded and complied, pushing back his sleeve to reveal the nicely wrapped up tattoo of two Marigolds that now sat on his forearm. 

Damian was quiet while he studied the features through the plastic wrap, even in the face of the wound fluid that drained some of the colours out of his skin again. 

"It looks marvelous," Damian finally decided and nodded. "I can see why you chose him, father." 

"He's very talented, you're right," Bruce agreed and gripped the boy's shoulder softly before he released Damian to his room. 

Dick stayed behind, softly nudging Bruce's shoulder. He had a grin on his lips, blue eyes shining brightly, and Bruce just couldn't help himself and raise a brow at that smug expression. 

"You like him," Dick blurted out and looked very proud. "The tattoo artist.  _ Clark _ . You like him."

Bruce snorted and shook his head, already rolling his eyes. Not again. 

"I recall a time where you said the same about Andrew," Bruce replied and crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly on defence mode now. 

"And I wasn't wrong back then," Dick shrugged. "I'm not stupid, B. I can see it. And it's really okay to like someone. Heck, I'd even say it's about time that you like someone again!" 

"I don't … not like him," Bruce said slowly, shaking his head. 

Dick just smiled. "All I'm saying is, ask him out? If anyone deserves to be happy with a hot tattoo artist, it's you. You're not meant to be alone, Bruce. You deserve love." 

* * *

Apparently, he was following Dick's advice only two days later.

Bruce still couldn't believe it when he stood in the back of his shop, going through the variety of flowers he had standing in pots. He couldn't believe it when he started but abandoned the idea of a bouquet after a while, and neither when he went through the potted plants in the front, deciding he could as well go with a living plant.

When he had finally picked a white orchid, he could see that Dick might have been right this time. Clark was a beautiful man. And yes, Bruce did like him, he did feel attracted to Clark and his talent. If he had not read the situation completely wrong, Clark had also been flirting with him. Why should Bruce not take the opportunity and ask him out? 

After the orchid had gotten a fresh new black pot and a small card with care instructions, Bruce gave Andrew reign over his shop and left once again for the other side of the street. His heart was fluttering nervously in his chest, but Bruce tried to ignore it. He took deep breaths while he crossed the street, and when he pushed the door open, he was back in his element.

"Bruce! Back already?" Conner was sitting on the counter with a cup in his hands and grinned widely at Bruce. "Tattoo still good?" 

Bruce stepped aside to close the door, pot softly pressed against his hip with one hand, before he flashed a tiny smile at the boy. 

"It's good. I just wanted to come by and bring you a little something," he said, raising the orchid to underline his words. 

"Us or Clark?" Conner asked with a wink, hopping from the counter, not even waiting for Bruce's response. "Just wait here, I'll get him!" 

"What if he's busy?" Bruce tried to restrain Conner but got only a smirk in response. 

"Believe me, he's not!" 

Bruce snorted and shook his head while he watched Conner disappear behind the swinging doors, leaving Bruce in the front. 

He sighed. Here he was standing now, orchid in his hands and absolutely no idea how to handle the situation, but enough confidence to make himself believe he knew exactly what to do. It was just a date. Chances were high that Clark would say yes; hell, Clark had even mentioned that he was single. 

Waiting for Clark and Conner to come back was awful. Time stretched and seemed to pass even slower than usual. Bruce put the pot down on the counter and tried to be patient, even though his fingers drummed on the wood to pass the time. 

When the swinging doors finally pushed open, Bruce could see Conner pushing Clark forward. Then he disappeared again, pulling a curious Lucas with him, much to Bruce’s relief. 

"Bruce!" Clark said and ascended the stairs quickly. "I didn't expect you back here so soon." 

Bruce kept his lips curled up in a confident smile and tilted his head, eyebrows slightly raised. "Surprise," he said and reached for the orchid, as if it would explain his presence. "I thought I would bring you a living plant and see how long it's going to survive." 

He couldn't stop himself from noticing the plaid shirt that hugged Clark's body. That shouldn't look that good on a grown man far away from any farm, with the rolled up sleeves that revealed heavily tattooed skin, or the pen tucked behind Clark's ear that would perfectly explain the black colour on Clark's hands. 

"That's very kind of you." Clark smiled at Bruce and came up to the counter, turning the pot between his hands. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't orchids pretty hard to take care of?" 

"It's not a cactus. But here," Bruce said as he grabbed the small pamphlet, "are instructions that should make it easier." 

"Awesome," Clark said and gave Bruce a heavy pat to the shoulder. "Thanks, mate." 

"My pleasure." 

Clark nodded and grinned. "And your tattoo's doing good? No problems so far?" 

"Except for the itching you mean?" Bruce couldn't help his sarcasm, but laughed. "It's just the usual. I can't wait for it to heal up." He had put another plastic wrap around the tattoo to keep it safe. 

"Great," Clark nodded and hesitated, looking lost for a second, as if he wanted to add something but didn't know how or what. 

Bruce nodded and resisted the urge to clear his throat, taking the initiative. "I was also wondering if you're free on Friday? We could grab a bite after work, catch a movie, something like that." 

That was what people said, right? He hadn't done this in a few years, and he actually felt old and weird saying it out loud. But food and movies seemed appropriate, even for people their age. Not that Bruce knew much about movies that were not from Disney (which was entirely his kids' fault).

"Oh," Clark softly said and frowned, before he continued slowly, softly breaking Bruce's heart with his words. "Listen, I don't… we both have a lot of things going on in our lives and maybe it's better we … don’t date. You know what I mean?"

Bruce nodded, mind blank. 

"I'm sorry, mate. Hope you understand?" Clark added not very helpful and gave Bruce an awkward pat on the shoulder. "I need to get back to– I have work to do. I'll send Conner back to you?" 

Bruce didn't get a chance to protest before Clark had already stumbled down the stairs and disappeared through the swinging doors, leaving Bruce alone at the counter. Bruce didn't know what he was supposed to feel now and he actually didn't want to know either. His mouth felt dry, a lump forming in his throat. His hopes were crushed. 

What the hell had just happened, Bruce asked himself while he stared at the forgotten orchid on the counter. Why did he ever take Dick's advice and ask Clark out in the first place? He should have known the outcome. He should have– should have known. 

It felt like hours until he could hear footsteps approaching and Conner appearing in his view, clearly helpless and overwhelmed with the situation. As was Bruce, so he wouldn't blame Conner for it. 

"I'm… really sorry," Conner said quietly and puffed up his cheeks. "I really don't know what that was. I'm just– I'm sorry." 

Bruce just nodded and straightened his back when he looked up, locking eyes with Conner for a second. They had the same eye color, Bruce suddenly noticed. The same shade of blue with golden sparks around the pupil that Clark had as well. 

"Just make sure the plant doesn't die," he said with a raw voice.

Then, Bruce left without another word. 

* * *

He didn't go back to work. Instead, Bruce went straight to the back, only absently greeting Andrew with a small nod before he disappeared into his office and closed the door. There he sat, silently staring at the wall but also kind of at nothing, trying his best to pretend he was okay. 

Bruce clearly wasn't. Actually, he thought he'd never feel okay again. And yes, maybe he was being dramatic, and maybe life moved on. But right now, he had absolutely every right to feel like… Right, he didn't know how he felt. He didn't know if he even felt anything, except for the numbness slowly spreading in his chest. 

So Bruce just sat at his desk and examined the flawlessly painted and windowless wall of his office, while the same simple question went through his mind over and over again. 

_ Why?  _

Bruce had been certain that he had read the situation correctly. Clark had been sweet and kind around him, smiling at him and coming closer. Conner had been pretty convinced as well and Bruce would have bet that Lucas had been suspicious as well. 

When the door to his office was finally opened, Bruce was already lost in his thoughts, resignated and ready for cheap alcohol to burn his remaining feelings away. He didn't even look up to see who was looking after him, but he knew the familiar sigh. 

"Bruce, I was worried," Andrew said and came closer, leaving the door open. "Jason's watching the front. Is everything okay?" 

A warm hand got placed on Bruce's shoulder and when Bruce stayed quiet, Andrew hummed slowly, understanding without words and squeezing Bruce's shoulder softly. "I'm sorry it didn't go well, B. Let me hug you, okay? Just gotta turn around for me."

Bruce waited only for a short moment before he pushed his feet from the ground and let the desk chair turn towards Andrew, before he found himself pressed against Andrews warm chest in a tight hug. 

"He doesn't want to date me," Bruce almost blurted out and bit his tongue, closing his eyes. "We both have a lot going on, he said, but that's just a nice way of saying I'm not his type." 

"Not his type?" Andrew asked softly. 

"Too old, too many kids. Not enough time with the shop," Bruce said briskly and shrugged while a laugh formed in his throat. "I should look for someone my age. Or just let it be altogether."

Andrew grumbled, dissatisfied. "You don't even start to think like that, okay? You deserve to be happy, Bruce. And just because some tattoo douche doesn't see how wonderful you are doesn't mean you have to give up on love in general. Besides, age and kids are no reason to not date. He's clearly just stupid." 

He waited for Bruce to reply but got only a soft hum back. It was enough for Andrew, though, and he patted Bruce's back with a tiny smile. 

"Wanna string some bouquets together?"


	2. Blooming Belonging

Clark was almost certain that staring at an orchid for more than thirty minutes wasn't healthy. In his defence, Clark didn't have a customer for another hour. Right now, he was just trying not to lose his mind while his fingers drew orchid after orchid on the sketch paper he had laying in front of him on the counter desk. His pen was about to break from the pressure he added onto it while drawing almost maniacally. 

Turning down Bruce had been more painful than Clark had expected it to be. It wasn't just compassion he felt. Clark was honestly sorry – for rejecting the beautiful man, but also for his poor handling of the situation. He should've just spoken up instead of hiding behind empty words. 

The truth was, Clark would have very much enjoyed dating Bruce. But Bruce couldn't really mean dating, as in ending up together and in love. That was not how he functioned, how he felt towards other people. Even if he had smiled at Clark and opened up to him, a stranger.

Clark sighed. It was hard to remind himself that Bruce had been a client at that time. Most people liked to talk about their lives while getting tattooed, especially if the tattoo had a deeper meaning to them. Maybe Bruce had just been open about his life because he had seen Clark as his tattoo artist, who had specifically suggested to talk, as he always did. 

Then why couldn't he just stop thinking about Bruce? 

(He knew the answer, of course he knew. But Clark wouldn't even think about it, nuh-uh. He wouldn't.)

Clark groaned in frustration and put his pen down, crumbling the sketch paper that he had just filled with the third, almost perfect copy of the orchid. It landed in the trash can in the corner at the first attempt, but Clark couldn't enjoy his success. 

"Easy there, big boy," Lucas said mockingly, a tone Clark had grown used to over the last few days. "Won't risk breaking another pen, right?" 

"Don't worry, we've got plenty of them just waiting to be broken. Conner already ordered more," Clark replied sarcastically and looked up, just in time to see Lucas rolling his eyes. 

"Whatever," the man said and shook his head. "Your studio, your money." 

Clark watched him walking down to the backrooms and clenched his jaw but kept his thoughts to himself. Whatever was going on with Lucas, Clark could only assume that it had to be connected to Bruce, because of course, Lucas wasn't explaining anything. Stubborn idiot.

It wasn't even that Clark couldn't understand his reaction. Lucas had been fond of Bruce from the very beginning and tried to convince Clark to ask Bruce out. That Clark had not only missed the opportunity but also shot Bruce's invitation down had probably been met with disappointment from Lucas. 

Instead of giving Clark the cold shoulder now, Clark wished Lucas would scream at him and then call it a day, even if it was just for the sake of working together in peace – not just for their customers, but also for themselves. 

Clark sighed and turned his attention back to the entry as the bell announced a new arrival. It was Conner pushing the door open. He was balancing a box from the local bakery on one hand while holding a cup in his other hand. Probably Chai Tea Latte, Conner's drug of choice.

"You know, helping your brother from time to time wouldn't kill you," the punk boy said. "And hello, Clark, I'm doing very good today. Thank you for asking." 

"I'm sorry," Clark said running his fingers through his hair. "Don't tell Ma. I just had a bad day."

"No way," Conner snorted and moved around the counter to set the cup on the desk. "Still the Bruce Situation? You know my opinion on that. You could still fix it." 

Clark shook his head and glanced down the stairs to the swinging doors before he lowered his voice. "It's M. He's mad at me." He was actually pouting at his brother. 

"Yeah, I've noticed," Conner laughed amusedly. "He told me he wanted to punch you in the face so badly when you came back and left Bruce with his plant."

"Not helping," Clark growled. 

"I don't even know how I'm supposed to help you," Conner shrugged, poking a finger in Clark's chest. "You need to make the first step. Try to apologize to Lucas for being a douche. Explain what's going on in your head. I think he just wants to understand." 

Clark smiled a little. "You think that'll do it?" 

"No," Conner shook his head. "But it's a start. And while you're at it, you can also apologize to Bruce." 

A grimace appeared on Clark's face, but he nodded slowly. Conner wouldn't drop the topic otherwise. "I'll think about it." 

Conner snorted and rolled his eyes, clearly still doubting him, but he knew his brother well enough to open the box of donuts, offering Clark one with a smile. 

Clark accepted with a happy sigh and chose one with jelly, took a bite and closed his eyes in delight. Exactly what he had needed. Clark blinked and licked the sugar from his lips, before he raised his brows at Conner. 

"You're still not getting nipple piercings," he informed his brother nonchalantly. Conner had been trying to convince him of the new body jewelry for a while now.

A gasp was Conner's reply before the boy pouted at him, as if Clark's word would keep him from asking a mad Lucas for them as soon as Clark would leave the store anyway. 

"Mean!" Conner declared and took the box of donuts, pushing Clark's hand away as Clark wanted to steal a last jelly donut. "No more carbs for you!" 

"I'll buy my own carbs then!" Clark pouted and was about to get up and out of the parlor when the door pushed open and his customer for the next six hours came inside. 

Conner just grinned. "Good luck with that." 

* * *

Clark was honestly surprised how quickly a certain orchid on his counter had decided to die when he came in on Saturday morning and was greeted by the sight of withering leaves and hanging blossoms. 

He groaned and threw his jacket onto the chair, already searching for the pamphlet Bruce had added to the flower. It was taped to the wall under the counter, probably Conner's work, and Clark skimmed the introductions within seconds. 

Water just before the orchid goes dry, mist daily if the humidity is low, make sure it gets enough light. 

Putting the instructions down again, Clark crossed his arms and stared down at the flower. Conner had taken care of the plant so far and it had been going well. Only yesterday, when his brother had needed to leave earlier to meet up with a friend in need, Clark had been in charge of watering the orchid. 

Clark had touched it only once and now it was dead. How telling, he noted sarcastically and made a disapproving sound at the poor thing. 

"Must be a sign of the universe," he mumbled, sighed and rubbed his face. "Conner's going to kill me." 

* * *

Clark had been very busy lately. At least that was what he was telling himself. New customers with detailed designs had come in, and instead of talking to Lucas and apologizing to Bruce, Clark had buried himself in the extra work. Hail procrastinating. 

That didn't mean Clark had never snuck out to glance through the windows at the flower shop, searching for the familiar silhouette of Bruce. He had done that several times, but only ever caught a glimpse of the man. 

After Bruce had almost seen him staring creepily through his shop windows, Clark had ditched the stalker life for pen and paper, pining quietly instead. He had probably drawn Bruce a hundred times from memory now, putting the man in every scenario Clark could think of–with flowers in his shop or on a field, standing in the kitchen with a beautiful bouquet in his arms, outspread on Clark's bed, naked and exposed except for the blanket over his crotch–

Clark seriously had to stop or he would lose his mind. 

Setting down his pen, Clark sighed. He put the lewd drawing of Bruce in his art map to the many other Bruces, pushing away the fantasy. Then, he stood up from his spot behind the counter. Conner was long gone, waiting for him at home, and Lucas was downstairs cleaning up his station from today's work. 

It was dark outside. Clark shivered looking out through the window of the front door. He didn't know why, but it also looked cold and unwelcoming, just like November did. 

On the other side of the street, the flower shop was already closed for the night. The usually bright lights were dimmed to a beautiful background lighting to show off the plants in the shop windows. Clark could make out a shadow standing in the back. Maybe Bruce, maybe his shop assistant.

Clark turned his head away and fumbled his keys out of his pocket. He should close up as well. It was late. 

"Hi, man. Can we come in?" 

Clark jerked back as the friendly voice suddenly asked. His eyes flew up, looking through the glass right into the smiling face of a young man standing outside of the parlor. 

"Is this a bad time? Should we come back later?" 

There was a second man, definitely younger but also bigger. He had a white streak in his black hair, piercing green eyes fixed on Clark as if he was going to attack on command. 

"Uh…" Clark made, giving them both a once over while he slowly raised his eyebrows. "Are you guys going to kill me?" 

"No serial killers, I promise," the man laughed and pulled a badge out of his jacket, flashing it at Clark. "I'm a detective. See? This is awkward, I'm really sorry. You don't need to be afraid." 

"Just let us in," the other grumbled and rolled his eyes. "We're here to talk about Bruce." 

"I was going to tell him that, Jay!" 

"You were rambling again," the boy, Jay, shrugged and raised his brows at Clark, ignoring the pouting detective. "Open the door, Kent. And relax. We're his sons."

That explained a lot. 

"Look, I know I've handled it badly," Clark tried to call them off, "but it's late, and I should be on my way home in a few minutes. Can we do this another time?" 

"You're talking about Bruce here," Jason, as Clark assumed, growled and pushed the door fully open. "I don't care what nice little date you have at home. You're going to sit down and listen to what we have to say, big boy." 

The detective followed Jason inside, giving Clark a soft but distanced smile. "I'm Dick Grayson. And the pouting baby is Jason Todd. Nice to meet you." 

"Clark Kent," Clark said reluctantly and closed the door, making sure to lock it this time. He looked outside for a moment, but the boys seemed to have come alone. 

When he turned around, Jason had already made himself comfortable on the couch, one leg spread over the leather cushions. It was a wonder that his boots didn't touch the couch, but Jason didn't seem to care. He simply stared at the ceiling, waiting for Dick to join him in the waiting area. 

Clark had no other choice than to follow Dick and take a seat at the other side of the table. He crossed his arms while Dick got out of his coat. When he was finally seated next to Jason, Clark breathed out slowly. 

"So, what now?" 

Jason snorted, but got shushed by Dick with a soft sigh. 

"We're trying to sort a few things out on Bruce's behalf. You know, he's been really upset even though he tries not to show it," Dick said slowly and pinched his nose bridge. "And there seem to have been a bit of a miscommunication. I was hoping we could fix that." 

Clark pressed his lips together, but nodded. "Does he know about this?" 

"Of course not," Jason laughed and raised a brow at Clark. "But that doesn't stop us from telling you that you're a blind idiot." 

"Jason! We wanted to do this nicely!" 

"I _am_ being nice!" Jason gave back, but closed his mouth and pouted at the ceiling, giving in.

Dick breathed out slowly and shook his head, before he turned back to Clark with an awkward smile. 

"So, you turned Bruce down. Do you think it was the right decision?" Dick asked. His eyes were glued onto Clark's face as if he was reading him, and suddenly, Clark remembered that he was a cop. 

"Is there even a right decision?" Clark said warily and shrugged. "I think with so many things going on, it was for the better not to date." 

"But you've been upset as well, haven't you?" Dick's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, face blank. 

"How do you know that?" Clark asked slowly, trying to suppress the need to gulp. 

"That doesn't matter," Dick said as the same time as Jason snarled, "I fucking know Conner." 

Clark furrowed his brows. He couldn't remember Conner ever mentioning a boy named Jason, and he usually told Clark about all his friends. Brotherly instincts were trying to kick in, but Jason washed them away with a single snort. 

"That's not important now. The important part is, he tells me a lot. And I know that you've been fucking weeping and pining over him as if he was the one turning you down. So you better explain yourself or I will fucking–" 

"Jason!" 

"– tell Bruce you've killed his orchid." 

Clark winced. Now, that hurt. Jason obviously knew what buttons he had to press. Bruce knowing about the dying orchid was the last thing Clark wanted. He had to talk to Conner about the information he shared with friends when this was over. 

"I'm waiting," Jason reminded Clark slowly. 

Clark bit down a groan. "There's not much to explain. I don't think it would work out. I'm obviously not what Bruce needs in his life." 

"How would you know that?" Dick asked and couldn't hold himself back when he added, "You barely took time to get to know him." 

"Is it because he's older? Because he has kids?" Jason joined in and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Because that's what he told us." 

Clark blinked confusedly and shook his head. "That's definitely not what I meant. I don't care about his age or about kids, I– hell, I have two kids myself." 

That made Jason go silent for a second, frowning in consideration, before he started to smile. "Chris and Jonathan? I thought Conner was just doing a regular babysitting job." 

"No, he's watching my kids when it gets late," Clark said and bit his lip, squinting distractedly. "Chris is fifteen and Jonathan is thirteen. I need to make sure they have their homework done when I can't bring them here… but that's actually not the point. I really don't mind kids." 

Dick hummed softly and leaned back in his seat, eyes on Clark again. Clark wanted to squirm. 

"So, there's something else you're afraid of, right?" Dick asked quietly. "Something you've overheard perhaps?" 

Clark was glad his cheeks did not actually turn red, but he could definitely feel his heart jumping forward. _Conner_. 

"It's okay, y'know?" Jason shrugged. "When Bruce came out to us, we didn't know what to think either. I mean, it's kind of unusual. Not very often portrayed in the media. You hear a lot of bullshit and you need to figure out what to believe and what not." 

Clark swallowed. "So you… know?" 

"About Bruce being asexual?" Dick asked and smiled at Clark. "We do. He found it necessary to tell us so we would stop setting him up with every hot man in the area." 

Clark returned the smile, feeling the mood lifting slightly in the room, but he was still cautious. He wanted to say something, opened his mouth but closed it again, not finding the right words. He was confused. 

Luckily, Dick seemed to sense his helplessness. "Tell me what you're thinking? Maybe we can sort it out together." 

With a soft whining sound, Clark tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. "Bruce is– I mean he's… Is he even able to fall in love with someone?"

It was a question that had been laying heavy on Clark's heart, so it was only natural that he stared at Jason when the boy burst out in laughter. 

Dick shushed him again, cracking a smile while he tilted his head to the side. "First of all, being asexual doesn't mean you can't fall in love with someone. In fact, From what I've heard and seen, it's a different way of dating, but in no way less. He doesn't fall in love with someone because he wants to fuck, he falls in love with someone's heart and soul." Dick paused for a second before he grimaced. "Thinking back to my past relationships, some of them were only based on sex. If I hadn't been sexually attracted to them, we wouldn't have been together." 

"That doesn't mean he can't admire someone's physique, by the way," Jason added from the side and started to sit up straight, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, just in case you were wondering. Bruce knows if someone is hot, even though he would probably say… beautiful." 

Clark frowned at the new information unfolding in front of him. "But I thought it means that he doesn't do romance?" 

"That's probably aromantic what you're thinking about?" Dick suggested carefully. "Asexuality means, there's simply no sex part. It's a little bit confusing at first, but no ace person will kill you for asking where their boundaries lie." 

"The important part is that Bruce's sexuality doesn't keep you from dating him. I don't think he'd mind going out with you, y'know?" Jason nodded. "But he's not going to ask you twice cause you decided to be a dick about it." 

Clark rubbed a hand over his face and couldn't resist this time; he rolled his eyes at Jason's snarl. Yeah, slowly but surely even he had understood what Jason thought of his actions. 

But how had he been supposed to know? Nobody had explained to him what asexuality exactly was, and he still felt as if he didn't know what he could expect. If he was going to date Bruce – _if_ –, was Clark allowed to hold hands with Bruce, was he allowed to kiss him or hold him, snuggle with him in bed? Or was that already too far? 

Looking tiredly at Dick, Clark sighed. "I'll think of something. I obviously misunderstood, and I'll do my best to put things right, but I need to think more about this." 

Not to mention that he felt goddamn stupid being lectured by Bruce's kids in his own parlor. 

With a soft smile, Dick nodded and stood up. Jason took a second longer but joined his brother eventually, patting Clark on the shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, Clark appreciated that, but at the moment he couldn't care less. 

* * *

Later, when the boys were gone and Clark was alone again, collecting his belongings from the counter, he paused for a moment.

"I still don't know what to do about this," Clark murmured and stared at the dying orchid. It looked worse than last week, even with Conner's care. "Can you please be good and grow again?" 

"I'm sure it doesn't work that way." 

"Holy–!"

Lucas' deep voice startled Clark for a moment, before he cursed and turned to find the other man standing next to the stairs, smirk on his lips. He was carrying his black coffee mug in one hand, his sketchbook in his other hand, as he walked towards the small kitchen behind the counter. 

"Didn't want to scare you," Lucas said casually but kept the smirk, "but I won't apologize." 

Clark wasn't going to reply to that and put his tools in his messenger bag. He took his jacket off the hook and decided to head home for the night. It wasn't very far away, five minutes on foot. The cold air would probably do him good. 

When Lucas came back after a few seconds already, mug missing, Clark frowned at his artist for a moment. "Do you still need me?" he asked and put his jacket on, ready to go. 

Lucas shook his head. "No. I heard some parts of the conversation you just had, though. You should've known that you can always come to me if you need help." He reached out and grabbed Clark's shoulder. "You're my friend, Clark."

Clark nodded slowly and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. It's… a lot." 

"I get it, don't worry. Don't need to talk about it anymore," Lucas said and pulled Clark to his chest for a firm one-armed hug. 

When they parted again, Clark had a small smile on his lips. With his fingertips, he tapped against the orchid's pot. 

He pouted. "Do you think it's going to survive?" 

Lucas just laughed. "You should let Bruce have a look at it."

* * *

Clark found it surprisingly hard to take the plant and carry it over the street to Bruce's shop. He managed to avoid it for another day, before he eventually gave in. He couldn't stand Lucas' knowing glances any longer, fearing for his own sanity. Lucas just had a way with his eyebrows that could scare Clark into action. 

He waited until noon, using lunch time to avoid finding an audience in Bruce's customers, when he finally snuck out of the parlor, pot tucked under his arm. Not watching the street, Clark hurried over to the other side and took a deep breath, pushing the door open without thinking it through – it would only keep him from talking to Bruce. 

As soon as he was inside, Clark felt a pair of eyes on himself. He turned around, only to see a blond man standing between the flowers. His eyebrows were raised in a silent question. 

Clark shrugged and raised the orchid, which looked even worse now, as if it would explain everything. 

"I was hoping I could talk to Bruce for a minute?" Clark added and bit on his tongue. "He brought me the orchid but I think I messed up and I was hoping… I mean, maybe he knows what to do?"

He rubbed his neck, a nervous smile on his lips. 

The man blinked for a second, eyes wandering over Clark's body, giving him a once over, before he sighed deeply and dropped the utensils he was holding. 

"He's in the back. Just a second, I'll get him for you. And don't move or touch anything, please." 

With that, he left Clark in the front and disappeared through a door. 

Clark snorted quietly and rolled his eyes, secretly agreeing with the man though. He shouldn't be allowed near any flowers. Whatever plant he touched was doomed to wither, no matter how hard Clark tried. 

He turned around, taking in the sea of flowers surrounding him from different tables and out of cases and pots, trying to distract himself from the thoughts breaking free in his mind. 

What if, what if– he shouldn't even think like that and yet here he was, fighting against his spiralling thoughts with breathing techniques that had never helped before and certainly didn't help now. He laughed, closed his eyes, shook his head. He was a mess. 

Approaching steps signaled Clark to act in control again, and he straightened his shoulders when he saw Bruce coming from the backrooms, dressed in a wonderful black suit vest, but wearing a frown across his forehead. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, showing off parts of his tattoo sleeve including the fresh marigolds. 

Clark tried to smile at Bruce, but quickly dropped the soft expression when he saw anger flashing up in Bruce's eyes as the man stepped closer. "Hey, man. I'm sorry to bother you–" Clark began, but got interrupted by a quiet growl. 

"What are you doing here?" Bruce narrowed his eyes at him, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

"I came because, uh, you see, I've… kind of messed up?" Clark said slowly and raised the pot once again to show Bruce the sad plant.

Bruce snorted. "First, you tell me to leave, and now you slaughter an innocent plant? You could've just thrown it away. No need to bring it here and show me." 

"You think I did this on purpose?" Clark blinked. 

"Why else would you come in here?" Bruce fired back and rolled his eyes. "You didn't need to show me that you've killed my gift to you."

"It was an accident Bruce," Clark tried to clarify and bit his lip. "I don't know what happened, I swear. I just watered it once and was hoping you could… do some plant magic on it. Make it alive again." 

Hell, how did one use words again? 

Bruce stared at Clark in silence for a moment. Clark shifted from one leg on the other, nervousness coming back with every striking second. 

"You want to give it back?" Bruce finally asked and frowned again. 

Clark smiled slowly. "I was actually hoping to leave it in your professional care until I can take it back? I mean, it's… I'd like to keep it." 

When Bruce fell into silence again, Clark sighed. He could see Bruce's friend standing in the back, could feel his gaze on them. "Could we talk in private, maybe? I need to apologize for a few things." 

Bruce seemed to consider it but nodded shortly. He turned and crossed the shop with Clark following him, entering the back room storage filled with flowers for bouquets. Clark expected Bruce to lead him into his office, but Bruce stopped between the flowers and turned to face Clark again. 

It was definitely darker in here. Still, Clark could see Bruce's blue eyes shining angrily at him. Clark desperately hoped to change that.

"Speak," Bruce told him. 

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Clark said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have just made up an excuse not to date and told you the truth instead. I didn't want to hurt you with my reaction, but I know that I have. It wasn't my intention." 

He paused for a second and tried to find the right words, and Bruce waited quietly. Clark was thankful for that. 

"When I said we shouldn't date, I actually... meant that I was scared and misled. I thought you don't fall in love and I couldn't imagine a relationship without that?" Clark saw Bruce opening his lips but smiled to stop him. "I was recently educated that my assumptions were wrong, don't worry. I still don't know everything, but I know enough that there's the possibility… you could like me? And honestly, that's all I need to know right now." 

Clark's voice broke and he stopped, still looking at Bruce. 

Bruce was staring at the plant under Clark's arm, lips pressed together and brows furrowed. Clark waited patiently, giving Bruce space to breathe when he stepped back an inch and leaned against the wall behind himself. Quietly, Clark tried to go over his speech again and see if he could add more to it, but decided he had said everything necessary. 

Then, Bruce nodded slowly. 

"Just to clarify, you dumped me because you thought I couldn't fall in love?" Bruce made sure, voice firm and even. "But now you– what exactly do you want from me now?" 

Clark felt the urge to gulp but tried to withstand it. "I hope you can forgive me." 

"Forgiveness?" Bruce repeated and raised his brows. "That's all?" 

"Well," Clark laughed and rubbed his neck, while he bit his tongue. "I was hoping… and still am, that I could convince you to… go on a date with me?" 

Bruce didn't reply instantly. Instead, he stepped closer and reached out. Carefully, he took the orchid from Clark and put it aside on the ground. When he finally looked at Clark again, a tiny smile starting to spread over his lips, Clark held his breath. 

"And are you sure about that? You know what you can expect from me?" 

Feeling Bruce's hand on his neck when Bruce pressed his forehead against Clark's, pressing his body against the tattoo artist, Clark closed his eyes and welcomed the touch in a tender embrace. 

"Absolutely not," he breathed and smiled at Bruce. "But I'm willing to learn more about you." 

* * *

"I never took you for a tea kinda guy," Clark said while he watched Bruce taking the tea bag out of his mug and placing it on the small tea bag coaster.

Bruce smiled. "I was raised by a kind British man. He loved tea and passed his passion to me and the kids. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate coffee." 

"I was almost afraid I chose the wrong location," Clark confessed with a soft laugh. "I haven't done this in a while. Dating, I mean." 

"It's perfect, don't worry," Bruce said and added milk to his tea, earning a chuckle from Clark. "Don't judge without tasting. Chai tea does taste better with milk. But don't tell Jason I've ditched Earl Grey. He's far more into tea time than I am." 

"Tea time?" Clark asked and raised his brows. "He really does that?" 

With a snort, Bruce nodded and leaned forward, tilting his head to the side. "Yes. He even prepares cucumber sandwiches and these things. You could come over, you know? And have tea with me." 

Their knees touched under the table and Clark smiled softly at Bruce. "I'd love to." 

* * *

Tightly wrapped in a warm blanket, Clark laid on the open field and stared up into the night sky. He had never seen such a dark firmament and yet so brightly lit up by the endless amount of stars in the city. Only in his youth in Kansas.

"That's Cassiopeia," Bruce explained, finger pointed at a constellation. "It looks like a W, but it actually resembles a Greek queen. It's one of the constellations you can see throughout the year." 

Their hands were intertwined, shoulders touching, as Bruce wandered to the next constellation. Clark inhaled deeply, coffee running through his veins, but even without it, he would've felt more alive than ever. 

"Orion and his belt, the three stars in one line. Can you see the four stars marking his shoulders and knees? And there, that's his bow," Bruce carried on and hummed. "Follow the line of his belt and you'll find a bright spot. Those are actually seven stars forming a cluster. It's called the Pleiades." 

"Pleiades?" Clark asked and followed Bruce's instructions to the bright spot. "Does it have a meaning as well?" 

Bruce nodded slowly. "Seven stars for the seven daughters of Atlas. Greek mythology. It has always been one of my favourite phenomenons. Each star by itself isn't bright or eye-catching. But together, they make for something greater than themselves." 

Turning his face towards Bruce, Clark took in the man's features. His skin was almost glowing in the moonlight. 

A shooting star appeared in the sky as Bruce's eyes found Clark's. Their noses touched when he leaned in, before Clark felt the careful pressure on his lips. So soft, as if Bruce was asking for permission. 

Without missing a beat, Clark brought a hand up on Bruce's neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. 

* * *

"What even is brunching?" Clark complained with a whine but Bruce shushed him with a smirk. 

"Andrew likes it." 

"And we're doing brunch because Andrew likes it," Clark asked, even though he knew the answer very well. 

"He's supposed to like you, Clark. And it was your idea," Bruce replied with a chuckle.

"That's before I knew what brunch is," Clark grumbled but leaned back in his seat when Bruce put a hand on his knee, softly squeezing it. 

"Think you can behave?" Bruce asked teasingly, eyebrow raised. "For me?" 

Clark sighed deeply but nodded. "For you," he said and leaned his head against Bruce's shoulder. "For you, I can." 

* * *

Bruce was already fidgeting with the keys in his pocket when Clark caught his wrist and pulled him into another embrace. 

"I don't want to let you go in there," he murmured into Bruce's scarf and closed his eyes, breathing in the rich scent of his boyfriend's aftershave. 

"In my apartment?" Bruce asked amusedly but let his fingers run through Clark's hair. "I can't stay on my front porch forever, and you should get home to your kids as well. But I know what you mean." 

Clark huffed and tightened his grip around Bruce for a moment. When he finally leaned back, it was only to reach Bruce's lips and place a kiss onto them. 

"Hm, you?" Clark breathed. 

"Hm, me?" Bruce whispered.

"I love you."

Bruce smiled beautifully. "I love you, too."

* * *

Clark was watching Damian and Jonathan wandering in front of them through the zoo. His hands were intertwined with Bruce's, he felt relaxed. Jason and Conner followed the young boys, Chris and Tim had split up from the group to get some ice cream with Dick. 

It was a sunny day. Bruce had pulled out the sunglasses and propped them up in his hair, explaining that this was how it was done. Clark couldn't deny that Bruce still looked smoking hot. 

When the kids stopped in front of the lions and leaned against the big windows of their habitat, Clark stopped and squeezed Bruce's hand gently, before he let go. 

With a purr, Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark's waist and pressed against his back, chin resting on Clark's shoulder. 

"Babe," Bruce's low voice reached Clark's ear over the noises of the other visitors and animals. "You should move in." 

For a second, Clark was quiet, blinking at the majestic animal walking towards the kids' side. 

"Is this… serious?" he then asked carefully. 

"As serious as I will ever be," Bruce confirmed and pressed a kiss to Clark's neck, smiling lightly. "We don't use the second floor. Chris and Jonathan would get their own rooms. It's enough space, as long as you don't bring your brother." 

"You're concerned I could bring Conner?" Clark snorted and couldn't hold back the grin forming on his lips. "As long as there's a guest room, he's going to sleep over at least once a week. You should know that before inviting me to move in." 

"That's a burden I'll have to accept," Bruce mumbled with a dramatic sigh. "But as long as I get you in my bed every morning, I'll take it gladly." 

* * *

Clark was sitting in bed when Bruce went down on his knees in front of him, both still sleepy from the night. The kids had decided to host a movie night. Apparently, Clark was too old for staying up late. 

He could barely process what was happening before Bruce had already pulled a ring out of nowhere, presenting it with a tiny smile. 

"Marry me, Clark." 

Clark didn't know where to look at. Bruce's eyes shining in the warm light of the morning sun, those perfectly kissable lips melting Clark's heart with the most simple words, or the silver ring holding a single diamond in its middle, pure and simple but with the slight extravagance of Bruce Wayne. 

Tears were forming in his eyes when he slid out of bed and onto the floor, arms flying in the air to catch Bruce and press him against Clark's chest. 

"Clark?" Bruce asked with a nervous chuckle, doing a poor job of hiding his worries. "Is that a yes?" 

Clark laughed and buried his face in the crook of Bruce's neck, nodding slowly. "Yes, yes! I want to marry you– fuck, I definitely want to!"

"That's good to know," Bruce said with amusement and pressed a kiss against Clark's cheek before he tried to pull back. "Let me put the ring on your finger…" 

Clark shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling giddy, an army of butterflies in his stomach as he snuggled closer. "Just one more second." 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering how old everyone is:
> 
> Bruce - 48  
> Dick - 27  
> Jason - 19  
> Tim - 17  
> Dami - 12 
> 
> Clark - 37  
> Conner - 21  
> Chris - 15  
> Jonathan - 13


End file.
